How to Marry a Marquis (22 page)

"I-ah-" Oh, where was Mrs. Seeton when she needed her? Elizabeth had tried cajoling him out of his temper-she was fairly certain that was included in Edict Number Twenty-six-but it hadn't had the least effect. James was still furious, his hands were still closed around her arms like twin vises, and God help her, but Elizabeth couldn't seem to take her eyes off his mouth.

"Promise me, Elizabeth," he repeated, and all she could do was watch his lips as he formed the words.

His hands tightened around her arms, and that, combined with some heavenly force, jolted her out of a trance, and she jerked her eyes up to meet his. "I won't do anything without consulting you first," she whispered.

"That's not good enough."

"It's going to have to be." She winced. "James, you're hurting me."

He looked down at his hands as if they were foreign objects, then abruptly released her. "I'm sorry," he said distractedly. "I didn't realize."

She took a step backward, rubbing her arms. "It's all right."

James stared at her for a long moment before swearing under his breath and turning away. He

had been tense, and he had been frustrated, but he had never anticipated the violent flood of emotion she had unleashed. The merest hint of Elizabeth in danger, and he turned into a

blithering idiot.

The irony was exquisite. Just last year he had laughed at his best friend when he'd been in a similar situation. Blake Ravenscroft had come completely unhinged when his future wife had

attempted to take part in a War Office operation.

James had found the entire situation vastly amusing. It had been clear to him that Caroline

wouldn't be facing any real danger, and he'd thought Blake a besotted ass for raising such a fuss.

James could look at the present situation with enough objectivity to know that Elizabeth was facing even less danger here at Danbury House. And yet his blood coursed with fear and fury at the very mention of her involvement in the blackmail affair.

He had a feeling this was not a good sign.

This had to be some sort of sick obsession. He'd done nothing but think about Elizabeth

Hotchkiss since he'd arrived at Danbury House earlier in the week.

First he'd had to investigate her as a possible blackmailer, then he'd found himself thrust in the unlikely position of courtship tutor.

Actually, he'd thrust himself in that role, but he chose not to dwell on that point.

The fact was, it was only natural that he'd fear for her safety. He'd been cast as her protector of sorts, and she was such a tiny little thing; any man would feel protective.

And as for this need-the one that was raking his gut and firing his pulse-well, he was a man, after all, and she was a woman, and she was here, and she was really quite beautiful, in his opinion at least, and when she smiled it did strange things to his-

"Damn it all," he muttered, "I'm going to have to kiss you."

Elizabeth had time to catch one short breath before his arms closed around her. His mouth met hers with a stunning mix of power and tenderness, and she melted-positively melted-into his

embrace.

In fact, her last rational thought was that the word "melted" seemed to be popping up in her mind with increasing regularity. Something about this man did that to her. One of those heavy-lidded stares-the kind that hinted of things dark and dangerous, things she knew nothing about-and she was lost.

His tongue darted between her lips, and she felt her mouth opening under his. He explored her fully, caressed her deeply, made her breath his own.

"Elizabeth," he rasped. "Tell me you need this. Tell me."

But she was beyond words. Her heart was racing, her knees shaking, and some dim part of her

knew that if she said the words, there could be no turning back. So she took the coward's way out, and arched her neck for another kiss, silently inviting him to continue his sensual

exploration.

His mouth moved to the line of her jaw, then teased her ear, then moved to the tender skin of her neck, and all the while his hands were moving. One slid down to the curve of her buttocks,

cupping it with exquisite tenderness as he gently pressed her hips against his arousal. And the other was moving up, over her rib cage, toward ...

Elizabeth stopped breathing. Every nerve in her body was quivering with anticipation, aching with a clawing need she had never even imagined existed.

When his hand closed over her breast, it didn't matter that there were two layers of fabric

between her skin and his. She felt burned, branded, and she knew that no matter what happened, part of her soul would belong to this man forever.

James was murmuring things, words of love and need, but she comprehended nothing other

than the stark desire in his voice. And then she felt herself slowly falling. His hand at her back supported her, but she was descending to the soft carpet of the library floor.

He moaned something-it sounded like her name- and it was more of a plea than anything else.

And then she was on her back, and he was covering her. The weight of him was thrilling, his heat breathtaking. But then he arched his hips forward and she felt the true extent of his desire for her, and her sensual trance was broken.

"James, no," she whispered. "I can't." If she didn't stop this now, it wouldn't stop. She didn't know how she knew this, but it was as true as her name.

His lips stilled, but his breathing was ragged, and he didn't move off of her.

"James, I can't. I wish-" She caught herself at the last second. God above, had she nearly told him that she wished she could? Elizabeth colored with shame.

What sort of woman was she? This man was not her husband and he never would be.

"Just one moment," he said hoarsely. "I need a moment."

They both waited while his breathing steadied. After a few seconds, he lifted himself to his feet and, always the gentleman (even under the most trying of circumstances), held out his hand.

"I'm sorry," she said, allowing him to help her up, "but if I'm to marry-my husband will expect-"

"Don't say it," he snarled. "Don't say a damned word." He let her hand drop and turned forcefully away. Christ. He'd had her on the floor. He'd been within an inch of making love to her, of taking her innocence forever. He'd known it was wrong, known it was beyond wrong, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. He'd always prided himself on being able to control his passions, but now-Now it was different.

"James?" Her voice came from behind him, soft and hesitant.

He said nothing, not trusting himself to speak. He felt her indecision; even though his back was to her, he could feel her trying to decide whether or not to say anything further.

But God help him, if she mentioned the word "husband" one more time ...

"I hope you're not angry with me," she said with quiet dignity. "But if I must marry a man for his money, the least I can do in return is come to him as an innocent." A short burst of laughter welled in her throat; it was a bitter sound. "It makes all this a bit less sordid, don't you think?"

His voice was low and as steady as he could make it when he said, "I will find you a husband."

"Maybe that isn't the best idea. You-"

He whirled around and snapped, "I said I'd find you a damned husband!"

Elizabeth took a few steps backward to the door. Her mother had always said that there was no reasoning with a man in a temper, and come to think of it, she rather thought Mrs. Seeton had written the very same thing. "I'll just speak with you later on the subject," she said quietly.

He let out a long, shaky exhale. "Please accept my apologies. I didn't mean to-"

"It's all right," she said quickly. "Truly. Although perhaps we ought to cancel our lessons for the day, considering ..."

He shot her a glance when she let her words trail off. "Considering what?"

Blast the man, he was going to make her say it. Her cheeks turned warm as she replied,

"Considering that I've done all the kissing that could possibly be appropriate prior to marriage."

When he didn't make a comment, she muttered, "Probably more."

He gave her a curt nod. "Have you the list of guests arriving tomorrow?"

She blinked, startled by the sudden change of subject. "Lady Danbury has it. I could bring it to you later in the afternoon."

"I'll get it myself."

His tone didn't invite further comment, so she left the room.

* * *

James had spent the entire morning scowling. He'd scowled at the servants, he'd scowled at

Malcolm, he even scowled at the damned newspaper. His normally easy stride was punctuated

by stamps and tromps, and when he returned to Danbury House after a couple of hours in the fields, his boots made enough noise to wake the dead.

What he really needed was his aunt's bloody cane. It was childish of him, he knew, but there was something rather satisfying about taking out his frustration on the floor. But stamping his feet just wasn't enough. With the cane, he could pound a damned hole through the floor.

He barreled through the great hall, his ears unwillingly pricking up as he passed the slightly open door to the drawing room. Was Elizabeth in there? And what was she thinking as he

stamped by? She had to know that he was there. She'd have to be stone cold deaf to miss the

noise he was making.

But instead of Elizabeth's musical lilt of a voice, he heard his aunt's froggy boom. "James!"

James let out a nearly silent groan. If his aunt was calling him James, it meant that Elizabeth was not with her. And if Elizabeth was not with her, it meant that Agatha wanted to Speak With Him. Which never boded well.

He took a couple of steps backward and poked his head into the doorway. "Yes?''

"I need to speak with you."

How he managed not to groan he never knew. "Yes, I imagined as much."

She thumped her cane. "You needn't sound as if you're on your way to an execution."

"That depends on whose execution we're talking about," he muttered.

"Eh? What'd you say?" Thump thump thump.

He entered the room, his eyes doing a quick scan for Elizabeth. She wasn't there, but Malcolm was, and the cat quickly hopped off the windowsill and trotted to his side.

"I said," James lied, "that I want one of those canes."

Agatha's eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with your legs?"

"Nothing. I just want to make some noise."

"Couldn't just slam a door?'

"I've been outside," he said in a bland voice.

She chuckled. "Bad mood, eh?"

"The worst."

"Care to share why?"

"Not if you had a gun pointed at my heart."

That caused her to raise her brows. "You should know better than to raise my curiosity like that, James."

He smiled at her humorlessly and sat down in a chair opposite her. Malcolm followed and

settled at his feet. "Did you need something, Agatha?" James asked.

"The pleasure of your company isn't enough?"

He wasn't in the mood to play games, so he stood back up. "If that's all, then I'll be going. I have duties I must carry out as your erstwhile estate manager."

"Sir!"

He sat. He always obeyed his aunt when she used that tone of voice. Some habits were very hard to break.

Agatha cleared her throat-never a good sign. James resigned himself to a long lecture.

"My companion has been acting very oddly of late," she said.

"Oh?"

She tapped the pads of her fingertips together. "Yes, quite unlike herself. Have you noticed?''

There was no way he was explaining the events of the past few days to his aunt. No way in hell.

"I cannot say that I know Miss Hotchkiss very well," he replied, "so I cannot offer an opinion."

"Really?" she asked, her tone suspiciously casual. "I had thought the two of you had developed a friendship of sorts."

"We have. Of sorts. She's a most amiable young lady." The tips of his ears started to feel hot. If the blush spread to his cheeks, he decided, he'd have to leave the country. He hadn't blushed in a decade.

But then again, he hadn't been interrogated by his aunt in nearly that long.

"However," he continued, shaking his head slightly so that his hair would cover his ears, "it has been only a few days. Certainly not long enough to make a judgment on her behavior."

"Hmmph." There was an interminable moment of silence, and then Agatha's expression made an abrupt change and she asked, "How is your investigation proceeding?"

James blinked only once. He was well used to his aunt's sudden changes of subject. "It's not," he said bluntly. "There's little I can do until the blackmailer makes another demand. I've already spoken to you about your servants, and you assure me that they are all either too loyal or too illiterate to have hatched this scheme."

Her icy blue eyes narrowed. "You don't still hold Miss Hotchkiss in question, do you?'

"You will be happy to learn that I have eliminated her as a suspect."

"What else have you done?"

"Nothing," James admitted. "There is nothing to do. As I said, I"m afraid the next move is the blackmailer's."

Lady Danbury tapped the ends of her fingers together. "So what you're telling me is that you're forced to remain here at Danbury House until the blackmailer makes another demand?"

James nodded.

"I see." She settled deeper into her chair. "Then it seems all you can do is stay busy as my estate manager so no one guesses your true identity."

"Agatha," he said in a forbidding voice, "you didn't lure me here just to get an estate manager for free?' At her offended look, he added, "I know how tightfisted you can be."

"I cannot believe you would think that of me," she sniffed.

"That and more, dear aunt."

She smiled too sweetly. "It is always nice to have one's intelligence respected."

"Your cunning is one thing I would never underestimate."

She laughed. "Ah, I raised you well, James. I do love you."